


The Scottish Play

by Beatriceorme



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatriceorme/pseuds/Beatriceorme





	The Scottish Play

**“The Scottish Play”**  
   
   
“Alright, who said it?” Sean took center stage. “I want to know who.”  
  
Elijah followed at a decidedly more leisurely pace. “Who said what?”  
   
“It, the title, the name, the ‘M’ word…the _curse_.”  
   
“Oh, you mean Mac -”  
  
Sean moved lightning fast.  
  
“No! Don’t say it! Never say that in a theatre!”  
   
“Hm mrmy.” Elijah mumbled his apology from behind Sean’s hand.  
  
“Spent too much time in theatres as a kid not to believe. I’ve experienced personally the havoc wrecked when that name’s been evoked.”  
   
“Hm mmhmhm.” A quick lick and Elijah’s mouth was free. “You’re just being paranoid, Sean.”  
   
“Oh, really?” He wiped his wet palm across Elijah’s sweatshirt. “Then how do you explain this series of unfortunate events, hmm? The toilets in the dressing room springing a leak. The costumer eloping to Vegas.” Each disaster punctuated by the flip of a page on Sean’s overflowing clipboard. “The Doormouse getting the chicken pox. The wrong lamps being delivered. Coincidence? I think not.”  
   
“Sean, that curse is just a silly superstition. Sean…Sean…” Elijah stopped the frantic clipboard flipping by taking it out of his hands. “There’s a reasonable explanation for all of this, you know that.”  
   
 “How’s the head, by the way?”  
   
 “I’m fine.” He shifted the ice bag. “I tripped ‘cause I’m a klutz, not because of any curse.”  
   
 “And the tree limbs breaking?”  
   
 “Maybe your cat just super-sized for lunch.”  
   
 “But, what about -”  
   
 “Sean.” This time it was Elijah cutting things short. He stepped close, wrapping his arms around, tugging Sean in until they were nose to nose. “Listen to me. I know how important this is to you, but you’re not doing anybody any good if you drive yourself and the whole cast and crew off the deep end. You know I’m right, don’t you?” Sean hesitated, opened his mouth to protest, then sighed, sagging into Elijah’s embrace, acquiescing the point. “Good. You open in a week and things are always a little crazy. Or so I’ve been told, many times, by countless people who felt the need to drive home the fact that I’ve never had the joy and thrill of performing live, how it truly tests your skills as an actor. Not like standing before a camera, there’s no calling ‘Cut!’ on stage, no multiple takes, just you and the audience, and if you screw up, you -” Sean cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I digress. Forget about this curse idea, and let’s get on with rehearsal, OK?” Sean nodded, forehead rubbing Elijah’s. “Good. Slowly count - one…two…three. Now take a deep breath.” They both did. “And keep thinking calm thoughts.”  
  
The tiny vein in Sean’s temple eased its frenzied throbbing. “OK. Feel better.”  
   
 “Good?”  
   
 “Good.” Sean smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Lij. Why you put up with me, I’ll never-”  
   
 “This.”  
  
The kiss was quick, but enthusiastic, and Elijah felt Sean press closer in his arms.  
  
“Sean, I don’t think this is really the place, but if you’re -”  
   
 “Lij,” Sean whispered against his lips, “your ice pack is freezing my butt.”  
  
Giggling and a wolf whistle broke them apart.  
  
“Yes, uh, better get back to work there, Mr. Director.”  
   
 “Good idea. Right. OK, people, listen up.” Sean segued easily into the authority role. “From the top of the chess game, black here and white, uh, Lij?”  
  
He stopped his house left exit. “What?”  
   
 “May I have my clipboard back?”  
  
Their hands brushed under the wood, and Sean winked mischievously at Lij before turning back. “Come on, people. I need my pawns, front and center!”  
  
Five rows back, Elijah settled in to watch. He abandoned the ice bag, his head not really hurting that much anymore. It had been a stupid accident; too excited to be here with Sean to pay attention. _So what if that damn mushroom was blocked for stage left and the low hanging baton that I ducked to avoid pitched me sideways and I swerved to keep from plowing into the mirror and that’s what put my shin into the mushroom and my head into the stage brace. Happened just because. No outside force, no bad karma._ “This curse stuff is such bull -”  
   
 “Lijah? Can I sit?”  
   
 “-shhhure, sure. Please.” He pulled the seat beside him down. “What can I do for you?”  
   
 “It’s Dad. I’m worried about him.”  
   
 “How so?”  
  
The Mad Hatter sighed. “It’s a cliché, I know. Straight out of a tired sitcom script. Daughter wants to connect with divorced father so she asks him to direct school play. Madcap frivolity ensues.” She yanked off the large green costume piece, leaving her sandy-brown hair askew. “Only no frivolity as of yet. Just stress.”  
  
Of all the girls, Isabella alone looked like Sean. Round face with an easy smile, her hazel eyes sparked with a familiar thirst to know everything. And even at thirteen, she possessed her father’s ‘must take care of the world’ demeanor. Exiled when she was a toddler, Elijah was just learning about this special person in Sean’s life step by step.  
  
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s great having Dad like this, watching him in his element and all.”  
   
 “No, not checkmate yet. Knight to queen’s four!” Sean’s raised voice brought smiles to them both.  
  
“He’s just trying too hard, that’s all.”  
   
 “Let’s see…Sean Astin, overachiever.” Elijah mulled that one over for a second. “Nope, sorry, just don’t see it.”  
  
Isabella swatted him a good one. “You are a sarcastic son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?”  
  
He swatted her back. “Who told you that?”  
   
 “Dad. That’s how he describes you sometimes.”  
   
 “Well, I’ve got a few choice descriptive words for your father, too.”  
   
 “And when he talks about you, his smile goes all goofy and his eyes kinda get misty, and the way he says your name. Sheesh!” She dropped her voice down, low and sultry. “ _Elijah_. Like I don’t know what he’s thinking.”  
  
Elijah shifted in his seat with the conversation taking a rather embarrassing turn. “Bells, I don’t think -”  
   
 “And that’s why you’re perfect. You’ve just got to. If you don’t, I don’t know, something terrible could happen.”  
   
 “Something terrible?” His stomach scrunched with sudden worry. “Wait a minute, what are you talking about?”  
   
 “Stroke, heart attack.”  
   
 “Do you know something that I -”  
   
 “Complete mental breakdown.”  
   
 “What are you -”  
   
 “Pulmonary embolism.”  
   
 “Isabella -”  
   
 “Or even death! You don’t want my Dad to die, do you?”  
   
 “Fuck, no!”  
  
A new round of giggles rang through the theatre.  
  
“Sorry!” Elijah called out, and quickly ducked down in his seat, thus avoiding Sean’s pointed glare. He yanked Isabella down after. “What is all this crap about Sean dying?”  
   
 “Well, it could happen.”  
   
 “Could happen if what?”  
   
 “If you don’t.”  
   
 “If I don’t, what?”  
   
 “Like I said.”  
   
 “I’m not exactly sure _what_ you said.”  
  
She rolled her eyes sending the ‘stupid adult’ message out loud and clear. “You need to talk to Dad about backing off. He’s driving us all crazy!”  
   
 “You’re just full of clichés, aren’t you, Bells.”  He snuck a peek over the back of the seat in front of him, checking to see where Sean’s attention was directed. _Good. Alice is getting small. Or large. Whatever._ He sat up in a more dignified position. “Why must I talk to him?”  
   
 “He’ll listen to you.”  
   
 “He listens to you, too.”  
   
 “ _You_ are the one he loves.”  
   
 “You’re his daughter.”  
   
“Not the same thing and you know it.” She whispered low again. “ _Elijah_.”  
   
 “Stop that!” He snapped, “It’s just creepy.”  
  
Laying her head on his shoulder, she played the Bambi-eyes card. “You would really be doing yourself a favor here, too.”  
  
He couldn’t look at her, the eyes too reminiscent of another Astin. “How do you figure that?”  
   
 “I know what Dad’s like when he’s all stressed out. Paces around the house, making lists, then making lists of lists.”  
  
 _Had to clear a pile of those off the kitchen counter just this morning._  
  
“Only wants to talk about one thing, obsesses over it.”  
  
 _Know more about Lewis Carroll than I ever wanted to._  
  
“Dreams about it.”  
   
 “Yeah, you could say he’s a man possessed and all that. What’s your point?”  
   
 “Well, you talk to him and not only does he ease up on me and my friends, you get my Dad back, without Alice coming to bed with you.” She quickly added when Elijah frowned at her. “Metaphorically speaking, that is.”  
   
 “Tell me,” Elijah stole at glance at the charming teenager doing her best to cajole him into doing her dirty work, “This didn’t fly when you tried it on your mom, did it?”  
   
 “Well, duh,” she sat back in a huff, “None of this stuff ever works on Mom.”  
   
 “Smart lady.” Elijah crossed his arms, leaning back casually. “OK, Bells, I’ll talk to him for you.”  
   
 “You will? Oh, thank you, thank you!” The hug was sloppy, but heartfelt.  
  
“But, you’ve got to do something for me in return.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t do laundry, cars or yard work.”  
  
Chuckling, Elijah reassured her with a broad smile. “No, no manual labor, nothing like that.”  
   
 “That’s good. Don’t think I could negotiate anytime soon.” She returned to her slouch. “Manipulation takes a lot out of a person, ya know?”  
   
 “Yeah, so I’ve heard. No, all I want you to do is not tell your Dad.”  
   
 “Uh, not tell my Dad what?”  
   
 “This.” Up on stage, Sean was occupied with the Tweedles; whether it was Dee or Dum who didn’t know his left from his right, Elijah couldn’t tell. But, he wasn’t looking out to the house, Elijah on the back burner of his mind, opening up the perfect opportunity.  
  
 _Why a person so well grounded in reason, with knowledge and intelligence enough to last four lifetimes, someone who prides themselves on being clear headed and well-balanced, a man who fills out a plain pair of jeans with just the right bulges in all the best – what was I thinking? Oh, yeah. I’m going to prove to him that it’s all just silly nonsense bullshit._  
   
 Elijah’s smile was conspiratorial.  
  
“Macbeth.”  
  
Isabella gave a gasp, small and frightened. “You didn’t!”  
  
After that, Elijah never doubted again.  
  
  
*****  
  
“No, Mom, we don’t need, really, we’re fine. Just a dislocated shoulder -”  
   
 “- busted up my knee, but I’m OK, and no, Hannah, we don’t need you -”  
   
 “- can manage just fine, Chris, thank you for asking. No, I’m not driving -”  
   
 “- took a taxi, Allie. Yes, I’m on crutches -”  
   
 “- arm’s in a sling -”  
   
 “- just want to go to sleep -”  
   
 “- I’ll get some rest. Call you in the morning -”  
   
 “- call you tomorrow -”  
   
 “- love you, too, sweetheart -”  
   
 “- love ya -”  
   
 “- bye!”  
   
 “- later!”  
  
Both Sean and Elijah turned off their cell phones.  
   
 The name of Shakespeare’s most infamous play had hung in the air unchallenged, and for a few glorious moments, Elijah felt smugly vindicated. Then, like a sleeping eye closing, the twelve foot flats horseshoeing the stage started to pitch forward. On the way down, they took out a tea party, the Red Queen’s throne, one brick wall, two sign posts, a handful of playing cards and Sean. Though landing hard, shoulder first on the stage floor, Sean was fortunately saved from serious injury. Sticking up out of a mushroom, thus keeping the set from falling flat, a hookah had stopped Wonderland from burying Sean beneath it.  
   
 Despite his immediate reaction, Elijah never made it to Sean’s side. In his haste, he misjudged the distance between the seats, catching his foot on Row 5 Seat H, while his body continued the mad dash forward, finally coming to rest on Row 3 Seat G.  
   
 The past four hours – with the last one signing autographs and taking strained smile pictures with the staff and other patients – Elijah never stopped asking for forgiveness for his willful disregard of theatre legend. Sean allowed him to stew in his regret for a good ninety minutes before sneaking across the hall into Trauma B and accepting the apology with a kiss. Someone got a picture of that, too.  
   
 After an uncomfortable cab ride home that cost $27.50, and a few moments playing, “No, I don’t have my keys. You drove.” “Damn, they’re in my briefcase at the Theatre!”, Sean pushed aside the flower pot, with a little help from Elijah and his crutch to retrieve the spare one kept there for emergencies. They finally hobbled in their front door at 2:13 AM.  
  
“Fuck, I’m tired.”  
   
 “Just want to crawl into bed and sleep for three days.”  
  
Initially a big obstacle for Elijah and his knee, the stairs were conquered by simply sitting down and scooting up backwards with Sean following, crutches held in his good hand. The scrubs given to replace his torn jeans were two sizes too big, and just slipped right off Elijah’s hips. Sneakers and sweatshirt came next, Sean insisting he help with it all. Propped against the bedpost, with nimble fingers, Elijah unbuttoned what was left of Sean’s shirt, his belt and khakis, too. Socks and shoes, Sean managed on his own. Extra pillows retrieved from the guest bedroom and positioned just so, Elijah and Sean both sank down into the comfort of their bed with an exhausted groan wanting nothing more than the oblivion of sleep to claim them.  
  
“Sean, love you.”  
   
 “Adore you, Lij.”  
  
They leaned in for a good night kiss.  
  
“Ow, ow OW!”  
   
 “Don’t touch my – damn!”  
  
They tried again.  
  
“Can’t reach.”  
   
 “Doesn’t bend that way.”  
  
Third time was not a charm.  
  
“Not going to work.”  
   
 “This sucks!”  
  
Sean, on the right side of the bed with his left arm in a sling, and Elijah in his customary place on the left with the brace on his right knee, they lay side by side, hurting and frustrated.  
   
Sean desperately wanted to kiss his love, but wasn’t going to smoosh his injured arm to the mattress again. “Just go to sleep, Lij.”  
  
The sensation of Sean’s lips on his would go a long way to easing Elijah’s nerves right now, but he wasn’t willing to twist his knee one more time. “Going to sleep.”  
  
One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Seven min-  
  
“Not gonna fucking work!”  
  
Even during the platonic times, Elijah had always nodded off one way: Sean in back, him in front. Sharing a life and bed together had changed nothing. Each night found them in that familiar position, Elijah snuggled close in the circle of those wonderful arms, basking in the warmth and strength found there. That’s just the way they slept. Only now, he was lying beside Sean like a brick, barely touching. Time apart was bad enough for him; fitful nights full of small snatches of unconsciousness lost between long and lonely bouts of ceiling staring. Determined not to spend one of _those_ nights in his own bed with his greatest source of comfort untouchable beside him, Elijah made a command decision.  
  
“Get up, come on, off the bed.”  
  
The right side of the bed, nearest the door, that was Sean’s. Always had been. Maybe it was years of Daddy duty, ready to spring awake at the softest cry. Or it could be because the phone was there, just an arm’s reach away should someone require his assistance in the middle of the night. This tradition had continued since Elijah moved in two months ago and completed his life. It was just natural for Sean to sleep there on the right side; turned inward, Elijah spooned in tight against his chest, arms protecting, body shielding his love from harm. That’s just the way they slept. _But, not tonight._ Elijah had the right idea and Sean, not able to go another second with his arms empty, just refined it.  
  
“Alright, move over. To the other side, that’s right, there.”  
  
After much shifting, grunting, pillow propping, cover tugging, hip adjusting and the occasional shouted “Fuck! That hurts!” Sean settled back to the left side of the bed, Elijah nestled neatly in the crook of his good arm.  
  
“Oh, shit, yeah. This is way better.”  
  
In a rhythm so natural and instinctive since their first hello, their breathing became one, and Elijah settled into to listen to his favorite lullaby, Sean’s heart beating solidly next to his, to welcome sleep in.  
   
But, Sean had other ideas.  
  
“Saw you sitting with Isabella. That’s good.”  
   
“Mmmm well, she’s a great kid.” An easy enough topic Elijah felt confident discussing with closed eyes. “Just like her sisters.”  
   
“Important that you two get along. So,” Sean traced up and down Elijah’s long fingers as he embarked on his fishing expedition, “Seemed to be having a good time, had plenty to talk about.”  
  
Elijah smiled. _Very smooth, Astin._ He hugged the arms about him closer. _God! I love him!_ “Talked about you mostly.”  
   
“Me?” The trail of soft kisses in Elijah’s hair paused. “You talked about me? Why?”  
   
“She’s concerned about her Dad. Thinks he’s working too hard, stressing, worrying, obsessing, running himself into the ground, taking too much on, pushing, driving, Maybe even ruining his health.”  
   
“My health?”  
   
“Yeah, even mentioned a pulmonary embolism.”  
   
“Ah, I see.”  Sean was silent for a minute, weighing this new information against all that he had learned while raising two other teenagers. “She wants me to back off or her friends threatened not to talk to her for a whole week, is that it?”  
  
He couldn’t help but giggle. “Yeah, something like that.”  
  
Resting a chin on the top of Elijah’s head, Sean breathed a slightly miffed, but understanding sigh. “I’m grateful for her concern for my well-being, but the point is really moot now.”  
  
Elijah squirmed at the subtle reminder of his misdeed. _As if this huge, honking brace swallowing up my leg isn’t reminder enough._ “Yeah, did I tell you I’m sorry ‘about all this?”  
   
“About a million times.”  
   
“Let’s make it a million and one.” Elijah gently squeezed Sean’s good arm. “I’m sorry for fucking up. I promise to never say Mac - The Scottish Play again.”  
   
“It’s only cursed if said in a theatre, Elijah, and while we’ve had quite a few spectacular performances in here, I don’t think our bedroom -”  
   
“Say that again.”  
  
Sean frowned. “Say what? Cursed? Spectacular? _Bedroom_?”  
   
“No, no, my name. Say _my_ name again.”  
  
Confused, Sean complied with the request. “Elijah,” his tone flat and expressionless.  
  
“No, dickhead!” and he jabbed his elbow back.  
  
“Ow! Watch the arm!”  
   
“Sorry.” He leaned back and gave Sean a ‘make everything better’ kiss. “No, say my name like you mean it. Full of sweat and sex.”  
   
“You mean like this?” Dipping his head, so lips brushed the shell of his lover’s ear, Sean whispered, low and sultry, “ _Elijah_.”  
  
 _Oh, god_. Elijah shivered, but not from the cold. “Bells was spot on with that one.”  
   
“Isabella? What does my thirteen year old daughter have to do with -?”  
   
“Never mind.” He pushed back further into Sean. “Say my name again.”  
   
“ _Elijah_.”  
  
This time the shiver took them both.  
  
“Uh, Sean?”  
  
His tongue paused in its perusal of Elijah’s ear. “Hmmm mmmm?”  
   
“How much did you take? Pain killers, I mean.”  
   
“Half a Lortab, just enough to take the edge off. And you?”  
   
“Gave me Darvocet, but I didn’t take it. Makes me queasy, you know that.” He reveled in Sean’s hand rubbing lazily across his stomach. “Did it work?”  
  
Sean shrugged, and felt only a mild twinge. “Officially gone.”  
   
“Good.” A hand snaked down under tented boxers. “Glad it didn’t take _this_ edge off.”

“Oh, god, Lij!” Sean moaned, growing rock hard at his touch. “We shouldn’t do this.”  
  
A wrist twist at the top of his languid stroke. “And why not?”  
   
“Not only is it wildly inappropriate considering the circumstances -”  
  
Elijah nuzzled into Sean’s neck. “Inappropriate to want you, want to feel you inside me?”  
   
“- and logistically impossible -”  
  
A firm fist pulled Sean’s hips up off the mattress.  
  
“Oh, shit! This is supremely inequitable.”  
  
The hickey job on Sean’s shoulder paused. “How do you figure that? Your body completely under my control. Your cock,” his thumb slipped through the slit and Sean trembled, “ your skin,” he licked circles around a nipple, perfectly positioned next to his mouth, just begging to be nibbled erect, the flesh swelling under his teasing bites, “are mine. Sounds very fair to me.”  
   
“Well, damnit, it is not!” Sean growled, the arm supporting Elijah flopping useless, the other trussed up in the sling. “ _I_ want to touch _you_!”  
  
Elijah brought his hand in close. And right in front of Sean’s eyes, he licked his palm, from heel to fingertips, then returned his spit to Sean’s already weeping cock. “Whatcha’ gonna do about it?”  
  
In four quick moves – push Elijah up, swing arm in, push Elijah down, take matters in hand – Sean settled things on more commensurate footing. “Is this a dagger I see before me? Come, let me clutch thee.”  
   
“Cute, Sean.” Elijah chuckled, head dropping to Sean’s shoulder, “Shit. Hand jobs. We haven’t done this since – Fuck!” his loud expletive a reaction to Sean’s squeezing his head.  
  
“All we had for a long time.”  
   
“Yeah, behind a trailer, hidden in an elevator, beside a rock.”  
  
Moving closer, Sean reached in seeking more Elijah. “Thank the costumers for fall front breeches.”  
   
“Every damn day for eighteen months.”  
  
A little awkward at first, tipped sideways and using his left hand, Elijah soon found the correct rhythm and motions, Sean’s cock slipping hard and heated against his palm. He thrilled to every moan, twitch and breathy throat catch his touch elicited.  
  
“Oh, god, Lij, Lij _LIJ_! You, this, damn!”  
  
Elijah’s right hand wasn’t idle, either. It fluttered about, fingers flicking the one nipple he could reach, catching chest hair, bothering belly button. While not a part of his original tease, he enjoyed this nonetheless: tracing lips, his wandering fingers were sucked into warm wetness, caressed by an eager tongue. When Sean’s stroke intensified, he wiped them dry by clutching at rucked up sheets.  
  
“Oh, oh, Sean, fuck! You’re, - there, yes - SHIT!”  
  
It was difficult to have his love here beside him and not be able to kiss, lick, hold, thrust, smother with his body. Sean poured all of his pent-up desire into the connection he did have, making each stroke pleasurable and unforgettable.  
  
“Fuck, Sean…Sean, Christ! Talk to me…Sean…talk, tell about us, like we used to.”  
   
“Just the two of us, mmmm, of us, on a deserted beach. Make love to you, Lij! More, more, yeah, more of that! Right there in the surf.”  
   
“Me sucking you off, with only the stars and, oh, god, moonlight watching.”  
  
They spoke of New Zealand, of their beginnings, of fantasies whispered against swollen, kiss-stung lips while hands grabbed and snatched, thrusting aside Middle-Earth, to find comfort in a desire they could neither explain nor deny.  
  
“The caterer’s,” Elijah turned to sputtering when Sean’s grip turned rough. “tttttent, oh, ggggod, ffffucccck!”  
  
Sean took advantage of two uninjured legs, pumping up into Elijah’s fist. “Table, you, take, behind, hard.”  
  
Impossible dreams of a life lived side by side existed within those stolen moments. Mouth to mouth, bodies pressed tightly, Sean and Elijah were accepted and embraced. In _their_ time, they were one.  
  
“Morning, waking up, you naked beside me.” He twisted, knee forgotten, needing more contact. Nearest hand hold, Sean’s hair, and he grabbed at it, diving in and clamping down, sucking the breath out of both of them. The war of tongues and teeth eventually won, Elijah broke away, spit dribbling.  
  
“ _My_ Lij,” Sean leered, licking at the drop of blood on his bitten lip, “Fuck you all day.”  
  
Those wishes, however, which haunted and sustained them through years lived in obligation and disavowal, were forbidden no more. By some quirk of fate, or, as both Sean and Elijah believed, through the triumph of true love, all those flights of fancy were theirs now, to hold fast, to experience, to relive again and again.  
  
“You can, Sean,” Elijah kissed across his cheek, “for I am yours, always.”  
   
“Never, Lij, I’ll never stop loving you.”  
  
Hands slick now with a hint of what was to come, they matched stroke for stroke, arms bumping going up, hips colliding when fists pulled down.  
  
“Lij, oh, god, close, Lijah, need you, damn, love -”  
   
“- love you, Sean, fuck, yes!”  
  
Falling over first, Sean’s guttural groan tipped Elijah into following him, both arching into their climax, bursting out across each other’s hand.  
  
“Oh, fuck!”  
  
Minutes of heavy breathing passed, their bodies melting into one satiated heap. Both stayed in place, legs entwined, hands wrapped around sticky, shrinking cocks, too spent to even entertain the thought of untangling. Only a surprise sneeze, which racked Sean and subsequently Elijah, prompted them into motion.  
  
“Pillow! Pillow, give me the fucking pillow!” Elijah snatched it out of Sean’s offering hand and shoved it under his brace. “Oh, god. That hurts.”  
  
An attempt to retrieve one of the towels strategically placed in the second drawer of both bedside tables, had Sean sucking in a quick breath.   “Damn! That edge is back with a vengeance.”  
  
They lay motionless again, this time clenching teeth against the pain.  
  
“OK, I admit, that was stupid. But, do I regret it?” Elijah sucked his fingers, the taste of Sean tingly and pleasing on his tongue. “Not one fucking bit.”  
  
A kiss to Elijah’s sweaty head. “You’re insane, but I love you anyway.” Scooting off the end of the bed, Sean said, “Let me get something to really clean you up.” Each step on his way to the bathroom jarred his shoulder, prompting him to return with not only a washcloth, but a glass of water and two whole Lortabs. “Here take this.”  
   
“You continue that,” Elijah shuddered under Sean’s tender cleansing ministrations, “and I’ll need more than a pill to put me to sleep.”  
   
“Swallow.” Sean waited for the sign: Adam’s apple sliding up, then down. “Good boy.”  
   
“Smart ass.”  
  
Lortab on his tongue, a quick head toss and Sean’s pill disappeared. “Now, let’s put you to bed.” But, that proved to be an exercise in frustration with only one good arm, producing only a stream of mumbled curses and a face scrunched tight in pain.  
  
“Sean, here, let me, Sean, stop!” Elijah quickly snatched the duvet out of Sean’s strangled grasp. “You don’t need to do everything, ya know.”  
   
“Yes, I do. It’s part of my charm.” Nonetheless, he accepted the offered helping hand and eased back to the waiting pillows with a sigh. “And of the wonderfulness of me.”  
   
“Yes, I agree, you’re wonderful at taking charge, among other things.” Elijah drew the duvet up close, spreading its warmth properly. “But, there are more interesting parts to you that I am just as attracted to.”  
   
“Please elaborate, will you?” His move for a kiss stopped short by his shoulder, he settled for a one armed hug instead. “Only later, OK?”  
  
Shift to the right, but the pillow wasn’t supporting Elijah’s knee. Move to the left and the duvet bunched under Sean’s butt. Shimmy and squirm – Elijah couldn’t breathe. Twist and turn – Sean knocked the headboard.  
  
“Fuck it.”  
  
They settled in right where they were.  
   
Elijah shook his head. “All this over a fucking cursed play.”  
   
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Elijah, then are dreamt of in your philosophy.”  
  
Holding Sean’s hand between his, Elijah curled up within safety and love. “That’s not from The Scottish Play.”  
  
Nestled close, Sean’s steady breathing filled his senses with the sweet scent of his love. “Very good, Elijah!”  
   
“I’m not a complete illiterate.” His elbow jab was much softer this time. “What else?”  
   
“What else, what?”  
   
“What other theatre taboos should I be aware of, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t want this happening again.”  
   
“Let’s see.” Sean rifled through the memory file marked _‘Obscure Theatre Tidbits Complied While on the Road with Parents: Part One’_. “Well, Break a Leg, you know.”  
   
“Yeah,” Elijah tapped his brace, “got that one.”  
   
“OK. Don’t ever spill your makeup case, no whistling back stage, never look into a mirror over someone’s shoulder, no real flowers on stage.” Sean sidestepped the sections labeled _‘Mom: What not to Say When She’s Angry’_. “A cat in a theatre is good luck, unless it runs on during a performance. A light must always be left burning on stage to keep ghosts away.”  
   
“You’re shitting me.” Elijah sleep slurred his protest.  
  
“No, really. Most theatres are haunted, or so the stories go.”  
   
“All those dead actors coming back for” - jaw popping yawn - “one more curtain call.”  
   
“And you never rehearse those, _or_ the last line of the play. Foretells a premature closing. Though, that does make setting those final…cues rather…difficult, Lij?”  
  
Tiny, nasal snores and dead weight on his arm told Sean the medication had kicked in. His Lij was asleep. Now he could give in to slumber’s call. Sean’s eyes drifted shut.  
  
“Good night, sweet prince.”  
  
..........  
   
..........  
  
“That’s _Hamlet_ , too.” Elijah whispered and drew Sean in tighter.  



End file.
